Catalyst
by Jennie
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Rated: A
Disclaimer: Not my characters. No copyright infringement intended, no money made.
Author's notes:Takes place post Shades of Grey for SG1 and post Amor Fati for XF. Thanks to Carol for the incredible beta and wonderful suggestions - you've made this a MUCH better story, Carol. And, thanks to Jami, Calysta and Freyan for comments and encouragement. 06 May 01
Summary: Jack's old friend, Alex Krycek, decides to ah, help him out with regard to a certain angry archaeologist.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Catalyst: An agent that provokes or speeds significant change or action
JACK
"Actually, no it doesn't."
Uh oh. Getting a bad feeling here.
"We, uh, we drew straws."
A VERY bad feeling.
"I lost."
Shit.
Like the idiot I am, I stand silently as they walk past me - each studiously NOT looking in my direction.
I am SO fucked.
I lost.
That one really hurts, Danny.
"So," a husky voice penetrates my misery, "that's the famed SG1 team. My, my... not quite what I'd been led to expect, Jack."
And it all falls together. Krycek. Maybourne. Secrecy.
I should have known HE had something to do with recent events. I'm not even surprised to turn and see Alex Krycek lounging with that all-too-familiar indolence against the wall.
I just stare for a moment. He looks good. But then, he always looks good. I've known the man for years - don't know damn all *about* him. Except that, in a tight situation he's the best to have covering your back - and that I'd *never* want to be his target.
Because Krycek wants to win.
Krycek wants to win in every way.
And he usually does.
"Yeah - my team." After a moment's silence, I shrug and concentrate on him through narrowed eyes. "What are you doing here, Krycek?"
He straightens and steps towards me. I've never been able to figure this out about him - he makes a habit of invading my personal space, always speaks in that intimately husky tone, yet never once have I felt that he's putting the moves on me.
He's a strange guy. Turns up in the oddest places -I have no idea who or what he works for - but with him at my side I've managed to survive some pretty damned unsurvivable jobs. 'Course that was in the good old days - or the bad old days, depending on my mood - BS Before Stargate. BD Before Daniel.
"Just checking up on an old friend," he murmurs. "I suspected you'd get some fallout from your team over this and ... well, like I said, just checking."
Uh huh.
Alex Krycek is many things, a comrade, an equal in the field, a devious sonofabitch with a personal agenda that will probably never be understood by yours truly, but no one would ever accuse him of having an altruistic bone in his body. Then again... it occurs to me that the last time I saw him was at Charlie's funeral. He didn't speak to me - no meaningless platitudes from *him* - but, he was there.
He nods in the direction in which my "team" just disappeared. "Looks like I was right."
I grimace. "You heard him?"
"Dr. Jackson?" He lifts a knowing brow. "Yep, heard every word."
He knows. I can see it in his face, hear it in his voice. He knows exactly how much Daniel means to me. What those words - "I lost" - have done to me.
Damn him. Where the hell does he get off knowing me so well?
"I need a drink," I announce. I turn away, then glance back at him over my shoulder. "Well? Come on, Krycek. You're buying."
He nods and we make our way up top. I'm not even surprised that no one looks twice at the stranger walking with me. It's always been that way - he just blends into any environment seamlessly.
I've always envied him that ability. Talent. Whatever.
We get into my Explorer and I drive away from the mountain. First bar I see, I pull in and park. He doesn't say a word, just silently climbs out and accompanies me into the place. It's dark. And quiet. No one even looks at us - except the bartender. He efficiently fills our drink order then walks away.
Perfect.
Krycek seems to have some kind of psychic link with the guy behind the bar. Never once, do I lift an empty glass - at least not as far as I can recall. I have to admit that things get a little vague after my fourth or fifth drink. But, I swear he never actually has to *say* anything - the drinks just keep appearing as if by magic.
He's a silent shadow at my side. Knowing that he's got my back - so to speak - I just let go and keep on pounding 'em down.
At some point I start talking. About Daniel. God, do I talk. I'm sure Krycek is heartily sick of the subject by the time he pours me back into my vehicle and delivers me safely home. Vaguely I'm aware of his presence at my bedside as I fall into fitful slumber.
And I'm grateful. I don't know why he's there - don't care, really. I am simply thankful for his company.
He's gone in the morning. Not that I'm surprised by his absence or anything - no more than I was by his sudden appearance. I would've liked a chance to say thanks, though.
Painfully, I stumble to the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee - apparently he hasn't been gone long. He even left aspirin next to the coffee maker. Funny, I'd never thought of Alex Krycek as considerate before now.
As I head in to take a shower, I wonder where he's gone now and what he's up to...
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
ALEX
I like Jack O'Neill. He's a good guy - and, trust me, I don't say that about too many men. But, Jack really is a good guy. Knows what he has to do and gets the job done with a minimum of fuss.
Well, okay, to be perfectly honest, Jack is a bitcher and a moaner. That took a little getting used to. After we'd worked together a couple of times, though, I saw through his bluster and figured out that it was just his way of coping with tension. When push comes to shove, he's *there*.
Always.
Don't know that I can say that about anyone else I've ever known.
So, I always make sure I know where he is and *how* he is. Specially since the death of his kid. In fact, I was on the verge of interfering when he got "drafted" into the first Stargate mission. That seemed to get him past the suicidal tendencies he'd exhibited after Charlie died. I got a little worried when the wife left him - but he held steady.
Then, he came out of retirement - again - and Daniel Jackson reentered his life. Definite signs of life from him from then on.
I know full well the dangers of the current situation. Losing Jackson's regard could possibly cause Jack to regress to those awful days of not wanting to live.
I'm NOT going to let that happen.
I don't have many friends in this life - don't intend to lose this one.
So, I get Jack drunk, listen to him ramble on - at *great* length - about Jackson - or, 'The Little Shit', as I now not so fondly think of the good doctor, put him to bed and sit there all night just watching over him. When Jack starts to show signs of waking, I start a pot of coffee, leave the aspirin in plain sight and 'borrow' his truck.
I'm going to have a little chat with one Daniel Jackson.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
DANIEL
This morning is a real bitch, as mornings go. Admittedly, I don't do mornings well. I never have and I probably never will. But this one - well, it really sucks so far. I have no coffee in the place. None.
Disgusted, I throw the empty bag from Starbucks away and head back to the bedroom so I can get dressed and go get some caffeine. I walk into the living room and stop dead in my tracks. There's a man sitting on my sofa. A man I've never seen before in my life.
He smiles at my blank stare. "Morning, Dr. Jackson."
There's something in that smile... An almost feral quality that make the hair on the back of my neck rise. I stare at him in silence, watching as his smile slowly fades into a carefully blanked expression.
"Um, morning," I finally offer, wondering who the hell he is and why he's in my home. I note that he's keeping very still, black-gloved hands resting in plain sight, on his knees. Which is a good thing, I think. "Can I help you?"
With a strangely uneven shrug, he raises one eyebrow at me. "I doubt it, to tell you the truth. Others have tried with no success. I wouldn't waste my time, if I were you."
Oookay. This is getting stranger by the minute. I have the distinct impression that he knows me - knows far more than I am comfortable with, anyway. So, let's try a different approach, shall we? "Who are you?" I ask abruptly. Failing completely in my attempt to do an imitation of Jack O'Neill being impatiently gruff.
"My name is Alex. Alex Krycek."
That tells me nothing at all. When at first you don't succeed... "Why are you here?"
"I wanted to meet you."
Fine, fine - I'll play the game. "Why?"
"You're a very interesting man, Dr. Jackson. I've heard a lot about you over the years and decided we should meet."
"You have?" My skepticism is plainly apparent in my voice, I can hear it quite clearly and so, I'm sure, can he. He just doesn't look like the type of man to be interested in either archaeology or linguistics. There is an academic... I don't know, I guess you'd call it a type. He in no way fits into any of the parameters of said type. I can't for the life of me imagine what he's heard about me that would make him seek me out. Unless of course- No, he couldn't know, could he? Surely I'd have seen him at some point if he were involved somehow in the SGC. And, if he's not involved in the SGC, he has no way of knowing about my rather unique abilities regarding alien worlds and their relation to earth... Right?
Besides, just the fact that he's somehow managed to break into my place and is settled quite comfortably - without invitation - on my couch, deftly giving me answers that are in no way answers - as if he makes his living doing just that - tells me that he's not here because he's interested in my academic achievements.
He nods solemnly. And watches me.
A chill of recognition shivers down my spine. I've seen that look - that concentrated attention and stillness before. Quite often, in fact. Jack dons just such an expression when he's assessing something unknown and potentially dangerous. Of course, to Jack, EVERYTHING is potentially dangerous. Well, okay, maybe not everything - but, he's worn this particular attitude often enough that I've learned to stay quiet and out of the way until he's weighed the possible hazards of any given situation.
"Jack," I say. "You... You know Jack. You've worked with Jack. Before... I mean when he was with Special Forces... Black Ops. You have that... look."
Again, he nods.
"And?" I'm starting to get a little impatient now. He's playing with me and I don't appreciate it. I don't like it when Jack does this kind of shit - I like it even less coming from a stranger.
He smiles again. This time I step back at the sight. "Leaving already, Dr. Jackson? I'm no threat to you. At least, not today."
Somehow I'm not reassured. I retreat another step. In the time I've known him, Jack has - well, not exactly softened, but he HAS eased up on that hard-ass attitude he used to wear like a shield all of the time. Now he only wears it maybe sixty percent of the time. This man has no ease about him. I doubt he's ever spent an easy moment in his life. I study him and find myself fascinated and repelled at the same time by his sleek good looks, glittering green eyes and smooth, husky voice. Whatever he is, whatever he does, the man is by no means non-threatening - on ANY level.
With a heavy sigh, he shifts to a more comfortable position on the couch. "I've known Colonel O'Neill for a long time, Dr. Jackson. And, I do so like to know the friends of my friends."
Uh huh. I'd be willing to bet the proverbial farm that this guy, this Alex Krycek can count his friends on the fingers of one hand. And it hits me. The awkwardness - so out of place in such a man - is due to the fact that his left arm is prosthetic. Damn. I try to imagine Jack doing what he does with only one arm and fail completely - never mind the fact that such an injury would mean a desk job. No way could Jack do his job in that condition. Yet, this Krycek has almost certainly continued to do whatever it is he does. I can feel it. I can see it in his attitude, his posture.
"Um." I frown and fumble with my glasses, pushing them - unnecessarily - back up on my nose. I'm getting the distinct impression that there's a warning hidden somewhere in his words - few though they've been so far. "What do you want from me, Mr. Krycek?"
"What is Jack O'Neill to you?"
Well now, there's a question and a half. I thought I knew. I really did. Now, I'm not so sure. "We work together," is the answer I finally give him.
"That's all?"
I don't know. Not any more. "Yes," I answer firmly.
"So, you really did draw the short straw?"
Whoa. How the hell does he know about THAT? "I... You... Did Jack...?"
"Tell me? Do you really that's a viable possibility, Dr. Jackson? You should know the Colonel better than that - what with the SG1 team being so close and all." His voice has lowered a bit, and this time I'm sure he's giving me a warning of some kind. I've heard Jack use this same trick on adversaries. It works well for him. Now I know why.
"Should I?" I don't feel like being warned. I'm still angry with Jack. Very angry. And, therefore, by association alone, I'm not very happy with this Krycek person. "How exactly should I know anything of the kind?"
His green eyes narrow and he stares at me assessingly for a beat, then gives that oddly lop-sided shrug again. "My mistake," he says simply. "My information was obviously in error."
With that he rises to his feet and moves towards the front door.
"Wait," I say abruptly. "Why... I mean, what..."
At the door, he pauses and turns back to look at me. "Don't worry. I'll be around for a while. If and when you figure out what you want to know, you can call me... At Jack's. I'll be staying there."
Oh, really?
"I just wanted to stop by. Introduce myself. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other in the next little while." He offers me yet another smile - I've come to the decision that I really don't care for his smiles at all - and opens the door. "Oh." He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a bag, tossing it in my direction. "I couldn't help but notice that you were out of coffee. Enjoy."
And he was gone, closing the door gently behind him.
Well, that was certainly... disturbing. On any number of levels. Looking down, I see that the coffee is Hawaiian Kona.
At least he knows his coffee.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
ALEX
That was most illuminating. Jack is damned lucky I'm here. If he plans on waiting for Jackson to figure things out on his own, they won't *ever* get anywhere.
The Jackson kid is clueless. Completely and utterly clueless. Cute as all get out, yes. But, what an idiot! And Jack... Well, I like Jack, but let's be honest here, relationships are NOT his area of expertise. He's good in a fight, thinks on his feet and reacts calmly and coolly to danger, but ask him to deal with an emotional issue and, presto chango, O'Neill becomes O'Idiot.
That's why I never made any moves on him, you know. He's a damn good-looking guy. Very attractive. But, the kind of work we did together was... Well, when you're doing what we were doing, you just can't afford for that kind of thing to get in the way. I did the right thing by ignoring the attraction between us. I know I did. We both got out alive. He saved me, I saved him, and that's what counts. Most days, anyway.
You know, in a strange way Jackson reminds me of a certain FBI agent who shall remain nameless - his initials are Fox Mulder, in case you wanted a hint. They're both honest men. Good men. Men who've known loss and pain yet keep on struggling. Looking for answers. For truth.
Truth. It's odd, the way Mulder and truth have become so indelibly connected in my mind.
Mulder. The fucking bane of my fucking life. Talk about idiots! With anyone else in the world, he looks for reasons, hidden motives behind actions. Me? Shit, when it comes to me, he only sees what he wants to see. Some profiler, huh? I'm tired of it. Tired of being the bad guy. Tired of being the only one willing and able to do what HAS to be done. Most of all, I'm tired of being alone. At least here I can hide out in comfort for a while. Jack's is as good a place to run to ground as any I can think of. Mulder has no reason to look here. Neither does anyone else. I hope.
So, I distract them with each other while I use the SGC database to try and figure out just what Kritschgau had. What the hell that artifact does. What, if anything, it means in the larger picture.
I think I'll go back to Jack's house. He's probably noticed his truck is gone by now. Luckily, he's so hung over he won't kill me when I walk in the door.
But, just to be on the safe side, I'd removed the bullets from his weapons before leaving. My momma didn't raise any fools.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
JACK
Krycek's back. He just walks in and grins at me. Waves the backpack he carries and asks where the guestroom is.
If I didn't feel so awful, I think I might shoot the sonofabitch. I tell him so. He comes over to the kitchen table and gently sets a small bag in front of me. Curious, I peer in and groan when my eyes finally focus enough to see what lies within said bag. Bastard had my bullets with him. ALL of my bullets. Even the extras I keep hidden around and about - for emergency purposes.
"Jesus, Krycek, how the hell is it that someone hasn't killed you by now?"
He smiles that annoyingly knowing smile of his and heads for the extra bedroom. I hear him bustling around for several minutes, then I hear him go into my room. Whatever he's up to, I decide I just don't want to know. I manage to climb to my feet and stumble over to pour myself another cup of coffee.
When he comes back into the kitchen, I'm ready. "Where were you? You didn't use my truck for anything nefarious, did you?" I ask suspiciously.
The bastard has the nerve to look injured. "Of course not, Jack."
Yeah, right. "So?"
He opens the cupboard and gets down a cup. Fills it with water and heats it in the microwave. Opens another cupboard and pulls down a box of teabags. Once he finally has the stuff doctored to suit his delicate palate - a ritual I recall clearly from the past - he sits across from me at the table.
"I went to see your Dr. Jackson," he tells me calmly.
After I spend several minutes choking on the mouthful of coffee I'm unfortunate enough to be in the process of swallowing when he drops this little bombshell, I stare at him balefully. "There are easier ways to kill me, Krycek."
"Alex."
"Huh?"
"My name," he gravely informs me. "Don't you think, after all these years, you can bring yourself to call me by my first name? You wound me, Jack."
I stare at him in amazement for a second. It occurs to me that he really should be on the stage - or in movies or some such. This kind of acting talent really is wasted here in my kitchen. Jeez, to listen to him, you'd think it was just about the most hurtful thing in his life - to be called Krycek by Colonel Jack O'Neill.
"Look, Krycek-"
His face actually crumples with pain. And I thought I was good. I'm a stumbling amateur compared to this guy.
"What the FUCK are you up to, Krycek?"
"Alex."
I'M gonna kill HIM. No doubt about that one - I only have to decide where and when and how. It's a question of self-preservation. If I don't do it, he'll get me first. Can't have that - matter of professional pride, y'know.
In the meantime, though... "What's going on, Kry-"
"Ah ah," he chides me. "Alex. Remember?"
"Fine," I throw up my hands, surrendering for the moment. "What are you up to, ALEX?"
"It's quite simple, really," he informs me with a gentle smile. I decide that whatever he's got going on here, I am in really big trouble. "I'm going to help you."
"I don't need any help from you."
He smirks. "Of course you do."
"I do NOT."
Declining to fall into that kind of argument, Kry - hell, ALEX sits back in his chair and studies me for a moment. "Jack," he says quietly, serious for a change. "I know - I SAW the reaction of your team to what just happened. I was the one that insisted you not be allowed to tell them what was going on."
I shrug uncomfortably. "So?"
"So?" He repeats in a disbelieving tone. "Jack, we've known each other a long time, so let's be honest here. I doubt that you've got so many friends that you can afford to lose even one." He studies his tea for a moment and I begin to wonder if he's taken up reading tea leaves or some such shit.
I concentrate on the subject that seems to fill my every waking hour. "So, why Daniel? Why did you go to see HIM? Why not Carter?"
"Carter's a lifer, Jack. We both know she'll understand... eventually. As will Teal'c. Jackson is a different kettle of fish altogether. He's gonna have trouble with this." He fiddles with his mug of tea, sliding it around on the table in an intricate pattern. I'm staring at him, I know, but this odd behavior has caught my attention. Krycek's not the nervous type. In fact I don't think I've ever seen the man fidget. He notices my intent stare when he finally looks up and actually blushes. "I... I've worked with someone lately; a man not unlike your Dr. Jackson in many ways. An idealist. A dreamer. A genius. And, I know how hard that type can be to convince of the necessity of certain, ah, actions. Pragmatism just doesn't exist in their realities, Jack. So, I'm going to give you a hand with this one."
He lowers his head and gazes at me limpedly from beneath obscenely long eyelashes.
Oh God. I am in more trouble here than I'd ever imagined. With a pained groan, I bury my face in my hands and shake my head hopelessly. "Go away, Krycek. Just go away."
"Sorry, Jack," he answers with an air of finality. "No can do."
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
ALEX
After several moments of silence, I sigh and rise to my feet. "'M gonna hop in the shower."
No answer. Unless one can consider that little grunt a response. Choosing not to do so, I pick up my tea and leave the kitchen. I can't help but be amused by seeing Mr.-Hard-Ass-Black-Ops-operative hiding his face. Biting down on the inside of my cheek to stay the laughter that threatens, I head upstairs. In his bedroom, I search the dresser drawers and am quite happy with the track shorts and abbreviated t-shirt I find. I'm expecting the Doc to 'drop by' any minute now, and finding me dressed in Jack's clothes should get things off to a good start.
I'm so damned pleased with myself, I smile all the way through my shower.
I'm happy to report that the good Doctor is very punctual, not to mention predictable. Just as I step out of the shower, the doorbell rings. I hear Jack curse off in the distance. Assuming that he's still planted firmly at the table, I head to the front door.
Wearing a towel.
Just as I'm reaching out for the doorknob, I hear a shocked gasp from behind me. I turn and find that Jack has actually managed to pry himself from the table and is standing in the kitchen doorway.
"Christ, Krycek!" He stares, appalled, at my left side. "What happened to your arm?"
Ah, shit. I'd forgotten - haven't seen him since it happened. "Russian peasants cut it off." Actually, I'm proud of my casual response.
He doesn't seem to appreciate my effort though. Swallowing heavily, he crosses to stand in front of me. He's actually in the process of reaching out to touch the stump, when the doorbell rings again.
I shrug uncomfortably and step back. "Why don't you let him in, Jack... I'll just go and get dressed."
"Him?" Jack glares at me suspiciously. "You expecting someone?"
"That'll be your Dr. Jackson." I make a show of looking at my watchless wrist. "And, he's right on time."
As I exit the room, I hear a distinctly warning growl issue from Jack's chest.
Excellent. Things are going along very, very well.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
DANIEL
I'm not sure exactly what I'm expecting. I'm not even sure why the hell I'm here. Well, I suppose that's not true. I want to know more about this guy - this face from Jack's past. Jack's past. I've always been curious about that particular subject. Who wouldn't be? When I think about the Jack O'Neill I went to Abydos with that very first time, and compare him with the man I know now... Well, that other Jack is a mystery to me. I know so little about him - he never talks about what he did before SGC. Oh, I know about the Black Ops thing. What I don't know, are exactly what kinds of things he had to do to become the man I originally met. And maybe, just maybe, watching him with Krycek, listening to him with Krycek, will help me to understand Jack's past.
All of this assumes, of course, that Krycek was actually telling me the truth. As I strongly suspect that the truth and Krycek have only a nodding acquaintance, anything is possible here. I get out of the car with a fatalistic shrug, walk up to the door, and ring the bell."
Jack answers and I immediately recognize the signs of a majorly ugly O'Neill-type hangover. Reddened eyes, heavy shadows underneath, stare at me non-committally and he's holding his head oh, so carefully. I want to grin at the sight, but manage to restrain myself. He steps back and waves me in with one hand. "Come on in, Daniel."
I hesitate, suddenly overcome with doubts.
That familiar expression of impatience decorates Jack's face now. "Daniel? You gonna come in, or what?" Crossing his arms on his chest, he frowns at me. "Look, if you just come over to give me another dose of 'disappointed Daniel', you can just leave."
I blink and move back a step. When and how did Jack become the injured party here? He LIED to me, dammit. Denied - right to my face - our friendship. Well, fuck him and his hurt feelings. I'm here and I'll damn well 'come in'.
"Ah, no, Jack. I want to ask you about something else actually."
"Well get in here, then," he says shortly.
With a shrug, I move past him into the house, eyes automatically searching the living room for evidence that Krycek is actually here. Not seeing any obvious signs, I stop in the middle of the room, not sure what to do next. My eyes wander over the room, studying it as if I've never seen it before, wondering if I'll find any hints about Jack's past I may have over-looked. Curious, Jack is the last person I'd have ever though likely to bother with such a mundane thing as plant care. Yet, obviously he does. All these plants - not fake as I'd assumed the first time I visited his home - thriving in Jack's care. And then there are the windows... As careful as Jack is - as downright paranoid as he can be on occasion - here he is, living in a home with more window than wall surrounding the living areas. Bright sunlight reflects off of the wood floor and the gleaming table tops. The guy even dusts. I'm sure I've noticed this before, just not quite in this context. I suppose that military mentality of "order and neatness" comes into Jack's housekeeping habits - still, I'm finding it an interesting facet of Jack's personality. I briefly wonder what other parts of his personality I've been ignoring, seeing only what he wants me to see.
Jack watches me for a minute, then sighs heavily. "You want some coffee, Daniel?" He asks in a curiously flat tone of voice.
I hear a faint noise from upstairs and turn to face Jack. "So, it's true?"
"What? What are you talking about, Daniel?"
"I had a visitor this morning, Jack. He said he was a friend of yours."
The confused and impatient frown on his face eases. "Yeah, Alex told me he'd been at your place. Sorry about that," he said. "He takes some getting used to."
I lick my lips, gathering my resolve. "He said you and he were old friends?"
Jack nods then winces at the movement, raising one hand to his head. "Yeah, we are. Known him a long time."
"You never mentioned him."
An expression eerily reminiscent of that non-committal look I'd seen on Krycek earlier comes over Jack's face. "No, I didn't," he says flatly.
"Oh." I murmur, looking away from him and frowning in thought. Well, I can't say I'm surprised by his uninformative answer. He's pretty damned adept at sidestepping questions about his past. I should know. I have tried, you know. To ask him about it. Never gotten any kind of an answer, though. Still, if I watch them together I might pick up a few clues. About any number of things. What the hell? It's worth a try. Taking a deep breath, I search desperately for a change in subject. "Did you say something about coffee?"
With a shrug, Jack turns towards the kitchen.
"Jack," comes that husky voice I recall from this morning. Surprised, I turn to see Krycek standing at the top of the two steps that lead from the hallway down into the living room. "I'm headed that way. Sit down, I'll make more."
Oh, I don't like this; I don't like it at all. Not that I have any right to resent this man's presence in Jack's life - but, still, his obvious comfort in Jack's home grates on my nerves. I watch as Krycek walks down the stairs. I note absently that he's without his prosthesis. And, under his right arm he's carrying a bundle of... Laundry?
Once he reaches ground level, Krycek offers me a nod. "Morning, Dr. Jackson."
I straighten and nod in return. "Mr. Krycek."
Jack snorts. "What the hell is THAT? Doctor? Mister? Jeez, will you two relax? Daniel, this is Alex - Alex, Daniel." He shakes his head and walks over to collapse with a groan on the couch.
We both ignore him. Krycek wanders off to the kitchen and Jack and I wait in strained silence.
After a couple of minutes, Krycek comes into the room and walks over to sit next to Jack on the couch. How... interesting. He hands Jack a tube of something, which Jack then proceeds to study closely. Keeping a close watch on them, I move to sit in the comfortably overstuffed chair by the windows.
After reading the tube, Jack looks up at Krycek and frowns in confusion. "What?" He asks.
Krycek shifts around on the couch cushions, until his back is turned to Jack. With his right hand he reaches up and pulls at his t-shirt sliding the hem up over his back to just below his left shoulder. "That red spot next to my shoulder blade," Krycek says quietly. "Slap a some of that on it."
Jack grunts and opens the tube. No argument. No significant pauses to let Krycek know this is an imposition on his so-called good nature. He just follows directions.
SO not Jack.
Mesmerized, I watch as Jack gently spreads a thin layer of medication over the reddened area on Krycek's back. Why does it bother me so - to see Jack touching this man? He's not my property. In fact, he's more that free to touch whoever he cares to touch. He does that a lot, you know. Touches people. Quite freely, in fact. Not really in line with that whole 'Colonel' persona he presents to the world at large, I know. But, there you go, Jack O'Neill, master of contradictions.
With morbid fascination, I continue to observe this rather strange little scene. Strange in many ways. First, we have Krycek - a guy who's not the sort to admit to any kind of weakness - asking for help. In front of me. And then we have Jack - touching him in what seems to me a pretty darned intimate way. Asking no questions. Voicing no complaints. NOT normal Jack O'Neill behavior. And then we have the fact that this is not, by any stretch of the imagination, the way straight men act towards each other. I don't care how close they are - it's not a heterosexual male thing to... to GROOM each other. Yeah, there are times when such behavior is not remarkable - in the field, administering first aid to an injured teammate, in the locker room after a mission - you know, one buddy helping out another, and, of course, the intimacy of caring between lovers. But, this is none of the above. We're NOT in the field, Krycek is NOT a member of SG1, there's not a shower room in sight, and Jack's straight.
Isn't he?
Decidedly unhappy with all of the implications that jump to mind here, I'm relieved to find my mind wandering to those occasions when Jack has touched ME. He has nice hands. Long fingers. Kind of graceful. Um, not in a feminine way. No, definitely masculine hands. And his touch is... well, I've always found it kind of nice, I guess. Soothing. Warm. Not awkward the way most men are when offering the comfort of touch. Or support. Or whatever Jack happens to be offering with his touch at any given moment. My eyes fix on his fingers and the skin of my back ripples in sympathy as he carefully soothes the sore area on Krycek's shoulder blade. The well-remembered feeling of - Oh hell, Jackson, just SAY it - Safe. I always feel safe when he touches me. Can't help but wonder if Krycek gains the same feeling from the experience.
Downright uncomfortable at the thought of Krycek, irritating and smug bastard that he is, being offered the comfort of Jack's touch, I clear my throat and shift in the chair. Still staring at them. Still not happy. Still don't know exactly why.
I am NOT having a good time here. Not even close. And the longer Jack has his hands on Krycek, the more unhappy I become. What the hell is taking so long? It's a simple operation, right? Squeeze out the cream, smear it on the sore spot ... Not brain surgery, for Christ's sake.
I notice Krycek studying my expression and quickly turn my eyes to the chessboard on the coffee table between us. No WAY am I gonna let him see how confused I am right now. I take a deep breath and casually study the chess set-up, masking my expression pretty darn well, I might add. I'm rather proud of myself - poker has never been my strong suit. And, I think that Krycek has probably been banned from Vegas for life. Any card dealer with an ounce of self-preservation would take one look at that impassive face and hang up his deck on the spot.
I'm vastly relieved when the operation is completed and Jack pulls Krycek's shirt down to cover his skin. Then, damned if Alex doesn't send me this cat-with-a-canary grin and settle back next to Jack. Close enough that their shoulders brush together.
Jack turns a suspicious stare on Krycek's t-shirt. "Hey," he says, fingering the hem of said shirt. "Isn't this mine?"
Completely unconcerned, Krycek nods. "Yep. Shorts too. Borrowed 'em - Laundry, remember?"
And Jack, that bastard, shrugs. That's all. Shrugs. Doesn't even seem to CARE that the man has been riffling through his dresser drawers.
Okay. That's more than enough for the moment. I need time - and space - to figure out just what the hell is going on here. With them. And with us - me and Jack, I mean.
"I, uh, I'd better get going now," I mumble, standing up with more haste than grace.
"Daniel," Jack says, starting to rise from the couch. Krycek places one hand on his arm, staying the motion.
"Let him go, Jack," he murmurs. "I'm sure Doctor Jackson is a busy man."
The triumphant look he gives me says it all. He's mine now - go away, little boy.
I meet Jack's eyes. "I'll ah, see you at work Monday, okay, Jack?"
Jack sighs. "Yeah, Daniel. Monday."
As I leave, I can't shake the image of that damned self-satisfied smirk on Krycek's face. I have a lot to think about. Like, WHY does the guy bother me so much? And, exactly WHAT is their relationship? I mean, I've always assumed that Jack is the quintessential straight guy. But, the way he's acting with Krycek makes me wonder if I might have been wrong on that score. Which brings me to another question. Is it possible that I want Jack for myself - in THAT way?
My head hurts.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
ALEX
Damn, this kid is almost too much fun to play with. Definitely on a par with Mulder. I grin happily and nudge Jack with one shoulder.
"What?" he grumbles.
"Your Daniel seemed a bit... put out."
"Will you, for God's sake, STOP calling him that?"
I affect an innocent expression. "Calling him what?"
"Daniel is NOT mine. Never has been, never will be." With that, he leans forward and grabs the TV remote. "Isn't that coffee ready yet?" He asks as he rapidly flips through the channels.
Rising, I head in to get him a cup of coffee. His voice follows, "And if he's 'put out', it's because YOU went to see him this morning. Daniel doesn't like strangers arriving unannounced in his home, you know. Not many people do. And, I don't like you turning up in Daniel's home. You had no right to do that, Krycek."
I poke my head around the doorway and frown at him in mock concern. "You're sounding a little testy, there, Jack. Headache back?"
"Fuck you, Krycek."
I take that as a yes and bring the bottle of aspirin back with me when I carry his coffee in to him. He glares at me fiercely, then turns the volume on the television up a notch. But, I note that he DOES shake out two tablets, swallowing them with a grimace.
Having found a rerun of an old Stanley Cup playoff, Jack settles into the sofa with a satisfied sigh. I watch him for a moment, then turn to go upstairs.
"Where are you going now?" He asks suspiciously.
"Didn't sleep last night." I can't resist one last shot, though. "If you need me for... anything...."
"Yeahsureyoubetcha," he mumbles.
I smile and go on up to catch some much needed rest. I think it all went VERY well. I played it to perfection, in fact. Normally, of course, I'm not one to trot his weaknesses out in front of... well, anyone, really. But, hell, I've done far more embarrassing things over the years in aid of less interesting causes. Jackson's reaction made my discomfort well worth the sacrifice.
'Course, on the down side, I can't help wondering what Mulder's hands would feel like in a similar situation - touching me in a caring way rather than with the violence my very presence seems to bring out in him. FUCK. If only I could tell him, explain my actions. But, shit, at this point in the game, he'd never believe me - and if I explained that I've been working for the resistance all along, he'd be in. No choice - once a person is told about the organization, they must join. Or die. And, I don't want Mulder dead. So, I do what I can to help him, steer him in the right direction - sometimes toward information he needs, other times away from anything that might clue him in to the real situation. Mulder's a stubborn bastard, you see. And, even if he did join the resistance, I know him well enough to know that he'd have serious moral objections to the way we do things. The fucking survival of the human race is at stake here, dammit - we've all had to do things that will haunt us for the rest of our lives - but, if we pull it off, defeat the alien invasion, it will have been worth it.
Somehow, I don't think Mulder ascribes to the old The End Justifies the Means adage. He's so difficult sometimes - goes off half-cocked, constantly putting his life in danger. And he's so... so single-minded in his search for that Holy Grail of his - Truth. God, the man is a pain in my ass. Keeping him alive is practically a full-time job.
Why do I do it? Well, I guess you could say we have a love/hate relationship. I love him; he hates me. Not that I ever expect anything to come of it. No, in truth, I fully believe that he will one day be the death of me. Until that day arrives, though, I will continue to help him however I can - whether he appreciates my efforts or not.
I'm glad I decided to visit Jack. I need this break. A quiet place. The comfort of being with an old friend. And, the opportunity to use the SG1 database. I can't help feeling that there's something important hidden in Kritschgau's files. I have an awful feeling that I - we don't have much time left. All signs point to the invasion having been moved up. I NEED to analyze Kritschgau's data - find something to help us in the coming war. And, dammit, I'm sick and fucking tired of everything I touch turning to dust.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
JACK
As I lay on the couch watching TV, I keep finding my mind running a replay of this morning's visit from Daniel. Something just wasn't quite right about the whole thing. Alex was... I guess provocative would be the word. And Daniel's reaction odd. It's just not like him to be so quiet. And that look on his face - I could almost convince myself...
Oh, hell. Dream on, O'Neill. Daniel was NOT jealous. It was his lingering anger with me combined with his well-justified irritation over Alex's unexpected visit this morning. His tendency to turn up unannounced can be a wee bit irritating. Not that Danny is the irritable sort - but I can just see his reaction to a dose of Krycek doing his impression of the Sphinx. Actually, now that I think about it, it must have been pretty damned amusing. Daniel trotting out his friendly greet-the-natives persona, only to find that this particular native doesn't play nice with others.
Still laughing inwardly at my mental imaginings on how that little meeting had gone, I fall asleep on the sofa. Not gonna tell you about my dreams. Nope. Not even gonna THINK about 'em. I did NOT dream that Daniel and I were - nope, I didn't and that's that. End of subject.
I busy reexamining my decidedly XXX rated dream, when Krycek comes into the room. "WHAT?" I yell when I hear him come down the steps. "Jeez, Krycek, don't sneak up on me like that! Give me a fucking heart attack that way."
"Alex," he says mildly before turning and heading into the kitchen. I can hear him moving around, putting a pot of coffee on, putting his laundry in the dryer. When he comes back, I'm prepared. Spent that short reprieve thinking. Not a good idea to let him see how unsettled I am. Best way to deflect his attention away from me is to direct mine at him.
"So," I say, carefully casual, "tell me about this guy you've been working with. The idealist?"
Amazing how he does that... his face lost all expression in the blink of an eye. Interesting. I've seen him do that before - but always in response to a tense situation. Or, when some fool has made the mistake of thinking that he knows the man well enough to ask personal questions. Funnily enough, they never presume to do it again.
Which is it, I wonder? Does his relationship with the idealist constitute a threatening situation - or, have I actually managed to touch on something so personal that he feels the need to warn me off of the subject? Well, whichever, I'm not backing down. Hell, the man is romping merrily through MY life - playing games with Daniel and me - turnabout is fair play, you know.
Avoiding my inquisitive stare, Alex heads back to the kitchen. "Coffee," he says.
I wait patiently, a small smile on my face. Oh yeah. I've got him now. Found his weak spot. And I plan to run with it.
Once he's back, coffee in hand, I watch as he settles himself in the overstuffed armchair. I wait for the perfect moment - and yes! - just as he takes a cautious sip of the hot liquid, I move in for the kill. "So, this idealist of YOURS. Tell me about him."
He chokes. "You bastard," he gasps. "You did that on purpose."
I just smile. "Tell me," I say.
"No."
"Come on, Krycek - obviously he means something to you. You'd never have mentioned him if that weren't the case. Tell Uncle Jack all about it."
He glares at me. "We worked together. I betrayed him. He hates me. End of story."
Yeah, right. I note that as he's talking about this guy, his right hand moves up to cup the stump of his left arm. "And what did he have to do with the loss of your arm?"
Straightening abruptly, he releases his hold on the stump and picks up his coffee. Takes a sip. All the while avoiding my watching eyes. "He was in Russia with me when it happened - but we parted company before they took my arm."
"So, you went to Russia with this guy? Why? I mean, if he hates you..."
Krycek grimaces. "He didn't give me much choice, Jack."
Well now. This IS interesting. The Krycek I know always has a choice, a back-up plan. The idea of this idealist of his actually convincing him to go anywhere against his will is almost unbelievable.
"Who is he? How did you end up working with him?"
Restlessly, Krycek climbs to his feet and actually starts pacing. Wow. Never seen him exhibit nervous energy before. After a couple of turns around the room, he stops and carefully fixes his eyes on the wall behind me. "He's an FBI agent. And, for a short time, we were partners."
My mouth drops open. "FBI?"
"Yes," he snaps. "FBI." With that, he walks back to the kitchen. "More coffee?" He asks as he retreats.
"Ah... yeah. Yeah, sure."
"Well bring you cup here, then - I'm not your maid, O'Neill."
Ah ha. 'O'Neill'. Recognizing that I've pushed him far enough for now, I quietly join him in the kitchen and doctor up another cup of caffeine. "Hockey game on tonight," I say casually. "What do you say we order a pizza and just kick back?"
He nods, and the guarded expression on his face eases a bit. "So, who's playing tonight?" He casually asks.
"Detroit Wings and Dallas Stars," I answer, matching his offhand tone. "Should be a good game."
He snorts. "Should be a brawl, you mean."
I smile nastily. "Exactly."
"Jack, Jack," he sighs. "I thought you'd mellowed over the years."
Affronted, I raise my eyebrows and give him my best how-can-you-say-that-of-COURSE-I'm-still-a-tough-guy look.
He doesn't appear to be impressed. In fact, he laughs at me. I'm amazed. Don't think I've ever seen Krycek laugh. Still chuckling, he heads in to the living room and settles himself on the couch. I follow along and sit down at the other end of the sofa.
As the pre-game nonsense is going on, I'm thinking of ways to weasel more information about his FBI man out of him. I know that he knows me well enough to realize that I won't just let the matter drop. Nope - DEFINITELY not gonna let him off of the hook on this one. I look forward to the challenge.
The game finally starts and I call the local pizza delivery place. We sit and watch the game, he roots for the Wings, and I take the Stars. Sniping at each other throughout, we both enjoy the evening. We've never had the opportunity to just spend time together in a relaxed atmosphere and I find that I like him - he's good company.
Even if he is a sneaky bastard.
End
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
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